Gift
by stellar asterism
Summary: Francis wakes up to a little surprise.


Francis woke up to what seemed to be the sound of someone... cooking. Strange, he thought; he didn't recall having another person stay at his house last night. A thief? Impossible, he reasoned; what kind of thief would stay and cook—cook, of all things—in the house he'd broken into? So perhaps it was someone he was familiar with... and that person most likely had access to his missing spare keys.

Well, it didn't seem as if the person meant any harm, since he or she was cooking and everything, so he might as well go and see who it was.

Slowly, he got off the bed and exited the room, fingers subconsciously running through his hair in an attempt to make himself look somewhat presentable. Who knows, it might just be—

"..._Mathieu_?"

"Ah, _bonjour_, Francis!" the Canadian chimed in response, turning away from the pancakes he was making to face the older nation, "Sorry, did I wake you up?"

"_Non_, it was about time I woke up, anyway..." he answered, lips curving into a thin smile. Now this was one surprise he could live with.

"Oh, alright then," Matthew replied, turning his attention back to the frying pan as he resumed cooking. He silently let out a sigh of relief, thankful that the older nation was clothed, for once. Francis' shirt wasn't buttoned, he noted, but it was better than nothing—and at least he was wearing pants.

"I assume you found my spare keys, then?" the Frenchman lightly said as he slowly approached the younger blond, stopping beside him as he placed a hand on the counter for support.

"Ah, yeah, almost forgot about that." The bespectacled nation then turned the stove off and dropped the finished cake onto a nearby plate. "You left it at my place during your last visit," he quickly explained as he reached for his pocket, though Francis stopped him.

"You can keep it, _chéri_," he calmly said, pushing Matthew's hand away from the pocket, hand gently wrapped around the blond's wrist. "Think of it as a gift." His smile widened as he let go of the younger nation's hand. "Now why don't you continue making whatever it is you're making?"

Matthew smiled in response, though there was a hint of nervousness in his expression. "_Merci_, Francis," he said, relighting the stove and letting the frying pan heat up for a moment before pouring a generous portion of batter from the bowl beside the stove onto the pan's surface.

"_De rien_," Francis replied, watching the younger nation cook with mild amusement before slowly moving to stand right behind Matthew. His lips curved into a mischievous smirk as he wrapped his arms around the Canadian's waist, grinning slightly as he felt the blond tense up in his hold. "So tell me, what have I done to deserve a lovely surprise like this?" he murmured, resting his head on Matthew's shoulder, pretending not to notice the younger nation's uneasiness.

"Uh, well..." There was a short pause as Matthew forced himself to calm down and think of a proper answer—both proving to be much easier said than done. "You... didn't forget my birthday?" he tentatively said, immediately regretting his decision to say the first thing that crossed his mind. "A-and of course it's not just that," he quickly added, remembering about the pancakes he was making just in time to save two pieces from burning, "I mean, you... ah, how do you put it..." The blond fell silent for a moment. "You sort of... give me a lot of attention." He turned his head and smiled at the older nation. "This is the least I can do for you, eh?"

For a moment, Francis was taken aback by Matthew's words. It didn't take him long to get over it, however; in a few moments, he'd already smiled back at the younger nation, planting a soft, quick kiss on the blond's cheek and pulling him even closer. "Ah, _mon amour_..." he slowly said, relishing the sight of the faint blush spreading on Matthew's cheeks, "You didn't have to. Love doesn't ask for anything in return."

At that, the Canadian smiled and shook his head slightly. It was typical of Francis, really, to say something like that so easily and confidently...

...And was that a hand he felt brushing against his stomach?

"Uh, Francis?" he meekly said, doing his best to stay calm as he slowly poured the last of the pancake batter onto the frying pan.

"_Oui_, _chéri_?"

"Would you mind keeping your hands to yourself? I might end up hitting you..." Matthew paused for a moment, thinking up a more effective threat. "...Your face, with the spatula. You know how reflexes can be."

At that, Francis promptly let the younger nation go, letting out a sigh as he took a few steps back before turning towards the dining table and taking a seat. Honestly, everyone was just so scary these days...

Well, at least he would have another chance once Matthew had finished cooking, he quietly thought, smiling to himself.


End file.
